


through time and space

by anaicantdomath



Category: The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types
Genre: Eventual Happy Ending, Fix-It of Sorts, Light Angst, M/M, Post-Canon Fix-It, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:41:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24973999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anaicantdomath/pseuds/anaicantdomath
Summary: Thomas knows nothing about how time works, he just needs to bring Newt back.
Relationships: Newt & Thomas (Maze Runner), Newt/Thomas (Maze Runner)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 80





	1. hard times (but aren't they always?)

**Author's Note:**

> this is based on the movie's ending which i hated so intensely i came up with this crap

* * *

When a month had passed after they settled down at Paradise, Vince, Jorge and Brenda decided no more people shall be left behind. They simply couldn’t allow so. They felt this need to try and save as many as they could, any people they had passed over in the harsh frenzy of surviving the day. Even cure some, if they had the chance. So, eventually, they figured they should go on rescue missions; some days it was them three and other days it would be Minho, Frypan, Thomas, and Gally. In the last month, they had saved almost a hundred people, even children among them. They’ve found all kinds of machinery and resources, they were able to craft out water filtration systems, wiring systems, proper electrical systems- they even found edible goods. Hope was coming to build up, slowly. People _danced_ some nights. Some even got married. They had found, after so many years, a home of sorts.

This, however, did not guarantee the joy of success every single time they went out on a mission, or came back from one. They had encountered death, as well. Emptiness. Ashes and ashes of places, homes, families. And even after having seen it all before, the haunting feeling of sorrow over those who had been lost did not cease. They missed the people they never got to meet, the places they never lived in. And so did everyone, really- except they were not looking directly into Its Eyes anymore. This had been the first obstacle they encountered when getting the job done -the second, and hardest one, was convincing Thomas to go out on the missions.

Since Newt had been gone, people noticed Thomas becoming silent. And hey, he actually tried hard to accomplish that. He never spoke if he didn’t fully depend on it, he never got as involved as he used to, and he mostly wanted things to be calm. To be okay. Some days it was hard for him to go on the training camps, or the common area, or the dining hall. He feared the recurring possibility of misplacing anyone tall and blond for Newt, as he had done many times through his peripheral vision when going around the place, a blur of familiarity waving to him from the distance. Thomas quickly decided to simply help in everything he could around the place, eat and sleep the essential amounts only, and run as much as the lengths of the place provided. It helped with ignoring the little feeling of insanity at the back of his head.

Some nights he would find himself waking up under a layer of sweat, dizzy from the familiar sound of someone’s laughter on his head, a light brush of ghost fingers over his chest. He would touch the scars sprawled on his torso, thinking.

_It’s so unfair. So unfair._

__

__

And he would admit to no one, but on those nights, the ones on which he dreamed, he almost wished to open up his scars, and let the blood fucking drain out of him. 

__

__

_It just isn’t fair._

____

____

_‘Shut up, Tommy’._

_____ _

_____ _

_Yeah, okay, whatever._

______ _ _

______ _ _

_He feels a ghostly embrace, a dream too lucid but yet too faded._

______ _ _

______ _ _

He would touch the scar on his right hand and get headaches from not being able place the exact moment he got it. It could have been anything, really -he did go through some rough stuff. Except this one felt almost as one of the things he couldn’t remember back in the Glade.

______ _ _

______ _ _

Once, Frypan had come to him, and they talked. _“I know why you don’t wanna do it.”_ he had said to Thomas, _“It’s Newt. I know. It’s like Winston- I get it. But put it like this, yeah? Maybe they would like to know we’re out there, helping people to not go through- what they went through. Don’t ya think?”_ Thomas swallowed hard, painfully, and didn’t answer -just stared deeply into his friend’s eyes. He didn’t think Frypan really knew what it was like, but he couldn’t bring himself to admit it to him. Frypan had smiled sadly at him, patted his shoulder, and left. After that chat, Thomas accepted going to the missions anyway; he waited for them every week and did his best to be hopeful about them, just so he could do his best on not giving up completely if they turned out horribly.

______ _ _

______ _ _

______ _ _

Every day, they went a bit further away from Paradise. Today they had to go 400 miles to the South, Gally was driving with Minho beside him, while Frypan and Thomas shared the backseat. It was dark outside, a six hour drive awaiting, and the road was dead silent. They knew it was safe enough to open their windows by this point and so they did, even though the air smelled faintly of smoke. 

______ _ _

______ _ _

Thomas closed his eyes and laid his head against the window. He thought of running those 400 miles instead of going in the fucking backseat of the jeep. He’d appreciate the cold air filling his lungs, a little ache on his ribs reminding him that he was there.

______ _ _

______ _ _

_‘Aye, get it together Tommy’_. 

______ _ _

______ _ _

He thought of a blinding smile and blond hair swifting in the wind. He thought of bloodshot eyes where blue ones should be.

______ _ _

______ _ _

______ _ _

______ _ _

“Dude, wake up,” Frypan shook Thomas off his slumber, “we here.”

______ _ _

______ _ _

The place was mostly ashes, except for some buildings thrown around what seemed to had once been the city centre. They walked towards the less damaged one, and went in, weapons at hand. The metal ceilings hung high above them, immaculate, unbreakable, as if no storm had ever came near the building, the walls and appliances on them claiming as much; nothing about the place held a single trace of what had occurred outside.

______ _ _

______ _ _

They took separate ways once they started walking, and Thomas’ mind raced around a million thoughts while roaming around the place. He breathed cautiously and felt the permanent hypervigilance his life had come to produce for him make him overly aware of his surroundings. His grip was just a little too hard on the handle of his gun, his steps a tad more aggressive than they should be.

______ _ _

______ _ _

He walked along the right hall for what felt like five minutes, until he found a big glass door. He peeked from outside, his eyes running over every inch of a place that looked as empty as one where a bunch of workers had just decided they should move their office somewhere else, except for this one funny looking object, well at the back of the place.

______ _ _

______ _ _

“Guys, ‘think I found something here!”, he screamed towards the end of the hall as he opened the door carefully and stepped inside, his friends’ footsteps soon echoed not so far. He stood quietly in front of the object, an egg-like thing that seemed old but at the same time innovating. Not much later, Minho appeared, followed closely by Frypan and Gally. He moved to stand behind the thing, and found a button.

______ _ _

______ _ _

“Ok, this one’s new. Guys…?” Frypan came closer and touched the structure up and down, his eyes wide in confusion. Minho circled them, staring at the thing suspiciously. Gally approached Thomas where he was standing behind it; the four of them exchanging bewilderment looks. 

______ _ _

______ _ _

It seemed like a capsule of sorts that held itself with nothing but two metallic sticks grounding it to the floor, despite its big size. Not even wires coming from any side of it, the outside looked smooth and shiny, as well as the sides and the back, which were all colored blue.

______ _ _

______ _ _

Thomas looked properly to the button and saw some kind of wheel around it that looked almost too much like a dial disk, inscripted with numbers from zero to ten. 

______ _ _

______ _ _

“Doesn’t look like the ones WICKED used with us,” Minho remembered, “no tubes and shit… No screen either?”

______ _ _

______ _ _

“Here, take a look at this,” Gally moved to the side, Frypan and Minho both looking at the disk-button dialing system on the back, “what d’ya think?”

______ _ _

______ _ _

“I think we should bring someone else to check this out.” Minho said. Thomas looked at him.

______ _ _

______ _ _

“Or we could-”

______ _ _

______ _ _

“Nope!” Gally laughed shortly, “We’re not touching that button”

______ _ _

______ _ _

“...well, we don’t even know if it’ll work,” Frypan mumbled, “maybe-”

______ _ _

______ _ _

“Damn right, we don’t know. We’ll bring someone else to check it.”

______ _ _

______ _ _

______ _ _

Thomas looked back down to the button, feeling that trade-mark creeping curiosity bubbling up inside him, but he decided not to press on it. He had a feeling about this, like he needed to come back alone. They gathered themselves together and decided to move forward into the building and yet, after walking around some more, Thomas came back to that room.

______ _ _


	2. back to life

* * *

He couldn’t stop thinking about what they could _do_ with it. He didn’t know why it felt so obvious it would help them with something, anything. And _just what were those numbers?_ He ran his finger along them- they were inscripted with something resembling gold over the deep blue of the disk, the button was shiny and cold under his fingers.

As he touched them, a slight blue glow made its way through the gap between the button and the dial disk, before a stronger glimmer started to shine off the numbers too.

Then, out of nowhere, the memory of a conversation popped up in his head the way an old commercial comes back to your brain just for the hell of it. Except it was nowhere as monotone, or jolly, as one.

_“Thomas. Promise me, you won’t let me turn into them-”_

_“Shut up, you can’t say that.”_

_“No, listen. Just bloody listen to me. I’ve always known it, you knew it too. Yeah, don’t look at me like that-” Newt fucking smiled at him. The fucker. “Tommy. We will finish this, we’ll get Minho, and then you’ll- you’ll do what you have to do- to me.”_

_“Yeah, I’ll cure you.” Thomas looked into his eyes, they were merely a foot apart. Newt came just a tad closer, his smile quivering a little “I_ will _. We just have to get in, and Teresa will help us-”_

_They stayed silent for a while, and then, “I can’t let you go before-” Thomas looked down to his feet, “you’ll have a home again, Newt. You’ll heal and then- we could-”_

_Newt came even closer and grabbed Thomas’ chin, lifting it up. He no longer smiled._

_They looked into each other’s eyes for a few seconds. “Bloody hell, Tommy” Newt frowned at him, and Thomas snorted out a laugh somehow._

_They started laughing silently._

_“By the time we get to Minho, it’ll be too late. I- I’ll be all- cranky already.” Newt laughed some more, but stopped at Thomas saddened gaze._

_“We’ll make it, I promise.” Thomas placed his hands on Newt’s shoulders and shooked him up a bit, before letting one hand slid down his arm._

_Newt smiled at him and he felt his knees weakened._

_He looked tired, and hopeful. His eyes chasing Thomas' as he started moving his hands up and down his back, only inches afar. A tiny piece of a voice inside Thomas’ head went_ ‘what is this, what is this, what is this?’

_He closed his eyes, and let Newt collide onto his chest. His brain shut off, no questions made. His arms were now holding Newt’s waist tightly, his head hiding in the crook of his neck. Thomas cried, and let Newt hold him for the Gods know how long, as he did too._

_He couldn’t remember feeling this scared in his life, ever. Not even back in the Glade, or during the Trials._

_After what seemed like forever, he felt Newt’s cry stop._

_He felt one or two fingers slip under his shirt, caressing his skin softly. Newt's hands were shaking._

_“It’s fine.” Thomas breathed in, his lips trembling against Newt’s collar. “It’s fine. It’s fine.”_

_They separated silently and went down the terrace._

_Thomas felt his skin burning where Newt had touched it, the rest of his body freezing with the absence of Newt’s._

  
  
  


A beeping noise coming from the machine snapped him out of his memory. His eyes were burning and his cheeks felt wet. He blinked once, twice, then looked down to the numbers again.

His hands went into motion before he had the chance to decide what to do with them. He moved the disk the way he knew other people had dialed telephone numbers in the past. His brain seemed to send signals from underwater, the numbers he put completely foreign to him and yet, he whispered almost inaudibly, “take me to him.”

The machine opened up and he found himself setting a foot, then the other, inside. It enclosed him with a small _click_ , his breath condensing in front of him as if he had stepped inside a refrigerator, and not something else entirely, although it wasn’t even cold, and this was _definitely_ not a fridge. 

A second or two later, the ring of a bell scraped his ears and he started to feel his limbs go numb. Then, absolute darkness. 

  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  


He smelled concrete burning. Chemicals breaking down. Skin and blood and flesh all muddled down under layers of dirt, mold and death. He sensed movement all around him but then he realized he, too, was moving. And he was not alone. In fact, he was being pushed by someone else. 

_Oh._ His mind came to the realization that he was back at the second worst moment of his life. He didn’t quite understand much at the moment, but his body moved all the same, without him being able to think about it for a second.

“Newt, buddy, I’m-” they were wrestling, and he was struggling and trying to save what could not be saved, once again. But this time he knew how it would end. “Let go. Let go.”

He knew this: Newt was not Newt. He was also not letting go of the dagger.

So, also knowing who he was really aiming for this time around, he put his hand between a snarling chest and a sharpened devil. And this No-Longer-A-Boy in front of him came back to being Newt for a second, his blood-shot, darkened eyes going wide in shock at the wound in Thomas’ right hand.

“Tommy-” his voice seemed to claw down his throat, scratching. His body weakened to death but moved by death as well.

He stepped back, looking down at Thomas’ hand and back into his eyes, again and again, until Thomas made a quick move to grab his friend, before running inside the building in front of which they had been fighting.

He ran maniacally up the stairs, his gun clutched tight on his right hand. They crawled in and out of the elevator, Thomas ignoring Newt’s pleas as blood-stained strings of hair fell over his eyes. Newt kept asking Thomas to kill him, assuring him he would die, they would both die. Still Thomas ran some more, before finally finding Teresa.

“Thomas!” her scream held both surprise and relieve when he ran into her inside her lab. “I need to talk to you, there’s no time- it’s you. You’re t-”

“I know.” he interrupted her, perhaps he had even less time than the rest of humanity. Or perhaps more, maybe he had way too much time. He did not feel like thinking about time right now.

Teresa looked at Newt, who was growling and mumbling incoherently by Thomas’ side. She looked horrified, her body paralyzed while she watched in sorrowed awe as her friends fought for their lives. It was all they ever did, really.

“Listen to me.” His voice sounded calmer than he had expected, “I know it’s me-”

“How could you kn- ?”

“I’m sorry, I can’t explain now, please. Just- I need you to help him, please.” Thomas looked outside the room in almost comical punctuality.

There he was, at the end of the hall, approaching them. He hurried back inside, Newt’s feet giving up. Teresa helped him holding him by his arms and putting him on top of the bed, no fighting this time.

Teresa started to make the serum with his blood under Thomas crazy gaze as he held Newt down with his hands tight over his chest and forehead.

They were going to save him.

He would finally save him. 

Although he didn’t see when it happened. He went out into the hall and pulled the fucking trigger.

Janson’s head thumped when he fell onto the floor.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  


Moments later, things burned down, down, down.

But they were all being saved, this time. And everything was blurry, it was death all over again, _how many times do we have to go through this?_

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Tommy. But please shut up. You look even worse than me.”

He feels like they’re flying. Maybe because they actually are. Although his heart feels like it could take him out for a fly all on its own.

A boy lays on his lap, a boy holding on for dear fucking life. And he knows this boy’s name is Newt, and he thinks they’re not alone, many people are with them, he feels the _heat_ of them, the familiarity of their voices, the familiarity of one of them specifically.

He wonders if it would be okay for him to kiss the boy.

He wonders if he’s been here before, but he realizes that yes, _yes, of course_. Except something’s different, something shifted. He simply can’t figure out exactly _what_ at the moment. Maybe two things? Two sets of heartbeats? _No, that's not it._

His right hand hurts like hell, so he decides to concentrate on the weight of the resting head on top of him, on the hum of the breathing coming from Newt.

It feels like coming back to life, having him here. It feels like _Newt_ has come back to life, but that’s a dumb thing to think. 

He’s always been here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yea i don't know absolutely any of the physics involved in this but i still made this and if you just read it i'm very sorry but hey *finger guns* time isn't real anyways!


End file.
